


More Trauma

by HopelesslyLost



Series: Thanks, It's the Trauma [3]
Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Gen, Generally, One Shot Collection, canonical teenager spider-noir, i also don't know what to warn for yet, i don't know what each one will have so rating may change, individual warnings will appear in story, offshoots from Thanks it's the Trauma, or one shots that i could not include in the main story, outside pov, perspective switches, these are REQUESTS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24061528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopelesslyLost/pseuds/HopelesslyLost
Summary: Writers-block beaters and other things that are dabbled with while working on the main series of Burning Matches or The Wind Follows, naturally labeled 'more trauma' because that's generally what's probably going to be in it. Some one shots will connect to previous chapters and situations, just in a different perspective. Others might include looking at different characters POV, all will have a proper summary inside.
Relationships: Jefferson Davis & Peter Parker, Peter B. Parker & Peter Benjamin Parker, Peter Benjamin Parker & Everyone
Series: Thanks, It's the Trauma [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485161
Comments: 35
Kudos: 89





	More Trauma

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a mixture of those ideas that grab hold and never let you go, and gifts/requests that I've written for people. If it spoils anything it will not be included, but I do hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> This first one is very specifically related to chapter 23. Road Trips and Family Bonding of Burning Matches and was a request from a friend as a late birthday present.   
> Warnings for: Misgendering due to confusion? Is this a thing? I don't know but I wanted to make sure people were aware it happened,   
> being a sanctimonious prick,   
> casual racism and homophobia - both of which they are destroyed for, and finally...
> 
> Entitled Parents. 
> 
> I hope you all like this, I had entirely too much fun writing it.

Bertha had _been_ having a wonderful day.

She’d broken out the La Praire foundation, enjoying the smooth glide of it on her skin and the way it darkened her several shades from the drab pale that she had been. It was better for you than tanning, after all, but there was no way she was going out looking like…that. It made her look older than she was to be that pale, not to mention _sick_. The foundation left her feeling glorious and sun kissed, and she had spent an even longer time straightening her hair. The blond highlights had been a recommendation from her stylist, and she had been positively gleeful over them, initially. They really served to break out from the norm.

Bertha hadn’t told _them_ , that, of course… She’d spent such a long time complaining at what a piss-poor job they’d done that she’d managed to be comped half of the bill and had received a discount at her next visit should she come back. The hairdresser had cried, and she felt a touch bad for that, but it was worth it for the nice chunk of change she was saving.

If they wanted to be complimented on their work, they really shouldn’t make things so _expensive_.

Bertha spent several glorious hours getting ready at the luxury hotel she’d been staying at with her teenage son, who wouldn’t look her in the eye. But then again, he’d never really done that, not after she had divorced the slime that was his father. It had gotten worse after that summer she sent him to stay with his no-good father, which she had known she shouldn’t have done. But he had positively begged, and finally she could deny Tommy no longer. Besides, maybe if he did that, he’d get off of her back about going to that college he wanted.

Wasn’t she already doing enough for him? Wasn’t she already giving him meals and a clothes budget and a roof? How could he possibly act like she owed him more?

Outside of that, acting like she had the money to support him? It was almost like he didn’t know she’d been taking the child-payments for herself for years.

The thought had made her laugh, and when her son had looked at her with that curious expression as though asking what was on her mind, she had only laughed harder.

It’s what he deserved for loving her bastard of an ex-husband more than her.

Anyway, to the point, she _had_ been having a good day.

The breakfast at the hotel was to die for, the view divine before she had been forced back on the highway towards that family reunion. She was looking forward to that, too. The ability to show off her credentials, and the jewelry she was wearing and the way her son dressed nicely without any of the awful things she had seen the other kids his age wearing. 

It was the one good thing about him.

Regardless, Bertha had even _hummed_ as she slid her cardigan red sweater over her white button up shirt, careful about snagging her nails in the fabric or the tights that she had fitted. The eyebrows had been a beautiful addition, something that made her look bolder, and went perfectly with the red lipstick. She checked for lipstick on her teeth and spent a moment admiring her wonderful application before she had collected her son, collected her things and left.

Tommy kept talking about doing their part to help clean up and at least strip the sheets, but Bertha had laughed. The ones working _here_ needed a job, didn’t they? She asked him, what was the point if they just did their job for them? Tommy had just looked at her with that oddly sad look he always got, something that screamed of what she refused to label as disappointment.

Who was he to judge anyway, the little…?

Bertha took a deep breath, letting it out again as she stared at the reason she was _no longer having a good day_ after they had stopped at this absolutely awful little truck stop to get gas and a bite to eat.

The young woman that had just entered the building looked like a little _tramp_ , and Bertha couldn’t possibly understand how she thought that she could go out in public like _that_.

The oversized blue sweater that hung down to her hips and covered quite a bit of her hands was so baggy it slid down her shoulder enough for it to reveal that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The pants she was wearing had so many straps on them it was a wonder she didn’t fall on her face, and really what a _face_.

Even from _this_ distance Bertha could take in the hollow look of her eyes, the deepness to the sockets and the way that black had been painted around them. Black. Who on earth would bother painting their eyelids _black_? The lining was absolutely too thick, and while she could admit that it made her eyes positively vibrant, it was nonetheless something she couldn’t stand looking at. The black lipstick was worse. It made her look like a corpse and showed that she had trash taste. She looked at the man that came in with her and decided that it must be her father, due to the similar bone structure and the way they moved.

Initially she thought it might be some sort of sugar-daddy, but the longer she looked at them she had to concede to some sort of blood relation.

Her father caught her gaze almost immediately, while his daughter didn’t, and she watched as a pained look crossed his face, even as his daughter moved to the handicapped bathroom, and oh. 

That was the _tackiest_ stuffed animal she had ever seen, how on earth could the young woman still be going around with _stuffed animals_ at _her_ age?

She sent a very firm glare towards the father, and he pointedly avoided looking at her. That was just as well.

It was then that she noticed that Tommy was practically vibrating next to her, and when she finally looked at him, Tommy hissed out, “Leave him _alone_ , mom! He’s not doing anything.”

“Well _obviously_ he’s not doing anything given what his daughter is wearing.”

Tommy blinked slightly, immediately looking a bit off-put, but he gave a slight nod, and walked away from her.

Bertha had caught that pause though, and she resolved to herself that she would figure out what had caused it.

Bertha walked up and through the aisles towards the girl when she got out of the bathroom, watching as her father walked up to her and asked her a question, and then the young woman opened her mouth and…

Oh, dear Father in heaven, that was _not_ a young lady.

That was a young _man_.

Suddenly the rest of his build began to make more sense, the absolute shoe-string state of him, the way he wasn’t wearing a bra _because he wouldn’t need to_ … And he was wearing lipstick and _makeup_ , she had thought he was a young woman, how absolutely _appalling_! And his father, he looked _normal_. He looked like a perfectly disgusting lazy husband that spent no time on his own appearance and expected everyone else around him to look perfect, or worse a single father that didn’t give a _fuck_ about the state of his son, or the rumors that would be spread. Probably didn’t care at all about his health or wellbeing, given the way he let him dress.

Bertha was filled then, absolutely filled to the _brim_ with the kind of necessary ire to give them both a good talking to. The young man wasn’t lost, after all, she just had to reach him. Surely if she approached the father with the necessary critique, his poor son would be able to gain the strength to do it himself. Surely if she just stood her ground, she could have the poor boy see the error of his ways and turn away from them and repent.

That decided, Bertha walked up to the two of them, watching as the young man hissed a quiet curse as he hitched his pants back up as they tried to slide down his hips, and gave a sharp, “a-hem.”

The two of them turned to face her then, the son’s expression full of surprise and something like shock, while the father just looked resigned. He knew what he had done was wrong. He wasn’t even going to deny it.

“You should be _ashamed_ ,” she almost hissed, feeling that flash of vindication rising up within her as she made sure her voice was perfectly carried to everywhere in the store. She wasn’t expecting for the way the younger boy’s head jerked back in surprise, which hadn’t been her intention, and she immediately turned her attention more fully to the boy’s father so as not to spook him.

It was hardly his fault if he wasn’t shown proper manners.

“Excuse me?” the father asked and this close she could see that he obviously hadn’t shaved in weeks, the shirt he was wearing had a hole in the collar, and he looked distinctly like nothing he owned came from a department store, more like a thrift store.

“Your _son_ ,” she said finally, and sent a harsh look towards the boy, who seemed to flinch back again at her statement, but she continued, “How can you let him _dress_ like that?” and then she got a good look at the boy. This close she realized that the boy was practically riddled with scars, and much like his father, it seemed that everything he was wearing was second-hand as well. And then she realized how _thin_ he was. The reason his pants were slipping wasn’t due to the fact that they were slung low deliberately, it was because they kept sliding down too-slim hips. He was a stick, a poor stick that wore makeup that obviously advertised that… “ _where_ is this poor boy’s mother?” she asked then immediately, turning to look at his father with sharp eyes that almost cut. “Don’t tell me you’re a single father?” The man opened his mouth as if to argue or to sneer at her, but she rolled her eyes and let out a scoff, “Of course, you are. Only a father could ignore their children’s needs so blatantly. This boy is…obviously _extremely_ malnourished. Haven’t you _noticed_?” The look on his face was just the way her husband’s face had gotten, the slight squaring of his jaw, the absolute disgust that lay there when he watched her try and help others that needed it. “Of course not,” she sneered before he could respond, “a boy needs his mother, _obviously_ , I mean look at him. He’s…” she trailed off, looking at the young man, trying to condense everything that she was seeing into a phrase that could encapsulate everything he was and what he was promoting just with his very _existence_. “Well, he’s a bad influence on my son, obviously.” She gestured towards him, catching the sight of Tommy slinking back into the aisle as the young man looked towards him.

“He’s…” the man started, and there was anger and rage in his voice, genuine rage, and she continued going right over top of him, not going to let him say any of his _lies_ or _excuses_.

“How could you let him _dress_ like that?” she asked instead, gesturing to him from head to toe. “How could you let him walk around like that when it’s obviously just going to give other people… _ideas_ about him.”

“Excuse me,” the young man said finally, and his voice was lower and slower and deeper than she had expected or heard. It sent a shiver down her spine as she finally looked to him with wide eyes. “What the _fuck_ are you trying to say about my dad?” he asked, and a combination of the utterly vile language combined with the way he was looking at her, the sheer dislike emanating off of him was enough to get her to take a small step back “You trying to call him unfit?” he asked.

It was at this moment that Bertha realized she was gaping, having come over here thinking that he obviously would be…would be the one who… “Well…of, of course…” she finally started, letting her voice fall into something that was supposed to be soothing, was supposed to reach him. “I mean… _sweetie_ , I don’t know if you’ve looked in a mirror lately, but…”

“While you might be able to apply whatever that miserable fucking excuse for makeup is _without_ looking at a mirror, I spend quite a bit of time over it,” the young man sneered at her, and his gray eyes were so sharp and pale it was almost like looking into panes of broken glass.

“I…I _beg_ your pardon, but I _absolutely_ spend time…” she retorted finally, remembering all of that time, and all of that…

“You’re a full two shades darker than your actual complexion, _sweetie_ ,” he spat easily, and for a moment she was properly winded, unsure what to say to that, “I think you need glasses, or a reality check.”

“Young man, you…” she started softly.

“And furthermore, my _mother_ was the one who had custody first.” The horror that Bertha felt could only be described as dread from the deepest part of her being. Oh…oh… “ _She’s_ the bitch that decided that I didn’t need to eat when she couldn’t get enough money to get her damn drug fix, _and_ feed us,” oh heaven help her, “and it was _her_ boyfriend that was a prick and liked to fucking beat me when he was mad, while _she_ made excuses for it,” she had made a mistake, “and said I should just take it.” Oh God she had made a mistake… “How fucking _dare_ you say shit about my dad,” he finished with his voice so waspish and so harsh it cracked like a whip.

“I…” she stuttered.

“How fucking _dare_ you come over here and try and imply that he doesn’t know I’m fucking malnourished.” That was when he shook the basket that he was holding, and she looked down to see the piles and piles of food that lay within it, realizing that they had stopped for breakfast with a deep horror in her chest. “What do you think he does?” he asked, and those eyes were still fire, “Buy all this shit and then eat it in front of me? Fuck _you_ , lady.”

“Yes, but…” she started, darting her eyes from the young man, who still looked like he might strangle her, to his father, who looked obscenely proud of his son for this…verbal harassment that was completely undeserved. She was just trying to look out for him, and with that in mind, she tried again. “But, _dear_ ,” she watched those eyes narrow into slits, but continued anyway. “You shouldn’t… _want_ to wear makeup. It’s for…girls, and you… You might actually…” she hesitated, trying to think of how to phrase it, how to imply… “make it seem like you…”

“Are…” he asked softly, leaning towards her, his eyebrows pinching slightly as he looked deep into her eyes, “are you pissed off because you think it looks like I take it up the ass?”

Oh. Oh, good _gracious_. She was too late. She was far, far too late. He was a sexual deviant, and the sound that left her was something she would deny for the rest of her life, a high-pitched rattling thing that she barely even recognized as coming from her.

“First off, _dear_ ,” he said then, and there was anger there, as well as something that looked a great deal like defiance, “my preferences for whether or not I take it up the ass are none of your damn business,” that squeak was back, “and second off, even if I did, which I’m _not_ saying I do, why the fuck should that _matter_? It’s fucking 2018, where the fuck did you pull your fucking biases from, the 1930s? Put your fucking attitude back where it came from and get the fuck out of everyone else’s business, because frankly, from where I’m standing, everything you’ve said has been _wrong_.”

_Had_ it been? Had it been? Had it _really_ been? Surely…surely not. Surely, she had…surely _some_ things…

“You know what, no, I’m done. I’m done.” He shoved the basket towards his father and frowned at her. “Congratulations, you have _completely_ put me off the idea of eating, which, surprise, isn’t really good for me. So, hey, bravo lady, your wonderful nurturing nature did so much good,” he said, and applauded her loudly before pointing at someone behind them. She turned then and saw a… _black_ man standing there, tall and broad shouldered and immediately distrusted him on sight, and then he asked, “Is the car unlocked?”

“Here,” the black man said tossing the keys from his pocket towards Pete. And suddenly it all made sense, his father was a deviant, too, and her eyes narrowed in the disgust that it was due.

And then that voice once again.

_“What_ , lady, now you’re going to suggest that men can’t have _friends_ , too?” he asked, sneering, and she felt the flinch that left her at the realization that of course. Of course, that’s what they were. “Are you really that fucking shallow?” he asked, and she wanted to say no. She wanted to say no, and then he tisked, before muttering, “What a fucking _bitch_ …” under his breath before he turned on his heel with that last little volley and stalked off.

That was when she saw the boots, black and heavy things that stomped heavily with every step, his head lowered, his shoulders squared, and everyone that was even close to being in his way parted, before finally looking towards her.

The father rocked back on his heels before leaning towards her.

“Hey, lady,” he said softly in her ear, “I took it up the ass once.”

She let out a terrible awful sound, and immediately stalked away towards the restroom.

She would compose herself and then drag her son and herself out of here. But first she had to stop shaking.

Bertha wouldn’t learn anything, but every so often she would think of that line, and she would proceed to die internally.


End file.
